


Trying Something New

by ChummyGeekery



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M, Foreplay, I bless the rains down in Aaafricaaa, Pregnancy, Smut, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 17:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19300816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChummyGeekery/pseuds/ChummyGeekery
Summary: Sierra Leone, October 1958. It was a humid, restless night...





	Trying Something New

The West African rainy season ended with a month-long procession of thunderstorms. Peter wished the next one would hurry up and break already. He lay awake, the electric tension in the air mirroring his mood. Camilla was finally asleep. He didn’t dare disturb her now. At least the rumble of thunder would camouflage any noise he made…

He laid on his back with his eyes closed, and began to engage a familiar routine. He’d had less use for it in the past year or so. But it had kept him on the straight-and-narrow as a bachelor bobby. And in his army bunk before that…

He felt her fingers trace across his shoulder and down to his chest, playing with the curled hairs. He wilted in panic.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

“It’s alright,” she said, her husky whisper stirring him again. “Let me help?”

It was the middle of the night, yet as bright as twilight. The lights of Freetown reflected off the thick clouds above, through the tattered lace curtains, and into their tiny bedroom. In the pearly glow, Peter could see Camilla’s eyelashes flutter as she blinked awake. Her soft, full lips hung slightly open- in thought, or in desire? He glimpsed at the bust of her thin cotton nightdress. Probably the latter.

“Peter. I _want_ to help,” she pouted.

He grimaced with restraint. “I don’t want you uncomfortable.”

“I know. Which is why I thought I might… try something new…”

Her long fingers- the skillful fingers of an expert seamstress- traced down him, and he nearly melted in gratitude. Then he came to his senses. He stopped her hand just below his navel.

“D- didn’t some bloke in the Bible get struck down for this?”

Her brow furrowed as she worked out what he meant. Then she smiled, her big brown eyes sparkling with mirth. She moved their hands together up to her mouth and kissed his fingers.

“You really ought to learn the difference between the spirit and the letter of the law, Constable Noakes.”

“Yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because it wasn’t Onan’s act itself that was sinful. It was his refusal to give his wife a child.” She grinned. “And since you’re clearly not guilty of _that_ …”

They had entered their sixth and final month in Africa- and Camilla’s eighth month of pregnancy. She was carrying on as normally as possible at the mission clinic. “The work here is so much bigger than me. If one can believe it,” she often quipped. Her co-workers knew she preferred not to be fussed over; they tried to be discreet as they took over any tasks that involved heavy lifting or bending at the waist. She tried to be good-humored when patients touched her protruding belly for good luck, or when heads turned as she tottered through the local market. But her smile was forced at times.

Peter knew that Camilla was growing uncomfortable. He shared in her homesickness, her worries about the future, and even some of her sleeplessness. He could understand her frustration over feeling like a sideshow on the streets of Freetown.

But he found her as beautiful as ever- even if his ardent reassurances of this sometimes missed the mark. He was in awe of her vibrance; how even on the difficult days, she was suffused with a quiet glow. He was proud to see their love, and their joyful anticipation, on full display in her changing figure.

And then there were the moments when the self-consciousness and discomfort, the workday worries and future fretting, all fell aside. Moments when Camilla reveled in being big with his child. Now seemed to be one of those moments. She smiled coyly as she smoothed her hand down the front of her nightdress, going slow to emphasize just how much space there was to cover.

He rolled onto his side towards her. They shared a peck on the lips. This led to a series of kisses, each longer and deeper than the last. He ran his fingers through her hair- it was the longest and thickest he’d ever seen it. She rubbed the nape of his neck with her thumb, then began roaming across his shoulder, down his arm…

She took his hand and guided it down to her chest. He traced a finger along the neckline of her nightdress. She gave a small, high moan; but when he tried to pull back, concerned, she held his hand fast. She ran her thumb across the smooth skin of his inner wrist; then she eased his hand back onto her chest. He let his fingers start to roam again, gently, over the fullness of her breasts. He felt the rhythm of her breath. Her heartbeat. The warmth rising off her skin. 

_I love you,_ he thought. It swam in his head, dark and warm. It pounded in his heart- and lower, too... It sparked pleasure in the lightest touch, an electricity that communed with the rumbling sky above the city. 

_I love you._ Only the simplest words could touch upon such profound awe. He could explore her forever and never grow bored of the territory. It wasn't just her physical size- although that had proven more titillating than he ever would have anticipated. It was her realness, her depth. They could create new life, a new family. They could go to the ends of the earth together and not falter. Each accepted the other so unconditionally that they surprised themselves; each gave the other courage they never knew they had...

"I love you," he whispered.

She closed her eyes and smiled. Then she shuddered slightly- despite the sweltering night. That’s when Peter realized her offer to “help” hadn’t been altruistic. Camilla wanted- _needed_ \- for things to be reciprocal. Peter didn’t mind at all. He shuddered with pleasure of his own, just thinking of what was to come.

“We’ll both try something new,” he decided. “Now. Whose turn is it first?”

They grinned like naughty teenagers, their giggles mingling with the rolling thunder. He lifted up her tent-like nightdress. He put his hand on her taut stomach and started the long, curving journey downward…

Later that night, a great peal of thunder shook the earth, and the storm broke. The sky grew dark as the tension washed away. A pregnant missionary and her doting husband, both spent and relieved, yawned and exchanged sweet nothings beneath the sound of the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the premise and title are from the famous "30 Days of Fluff." I wrote this ages ago but had to overcome two ego trips before posting: 1) Admitting to myself that I'm never going to do an entire 30 Days of Fluff series, and 2) Publishing my very first straight-up, four-kettle smut.
> 
> *ducks and hides*
> 
> (Okay, okay, I know this is actually pretty tame as far as smut goes. It _is_ the internet...)


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